


Would have, and did

by coveredinfeels



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian Pavus' emotions about his emotions, M/M, Open Relationships, Threesome - M/M/M, Threesome with Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:23:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredinfeels/pseuds/coveredinfeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which an old friend unexpectedly turns up at Skyhold, and Dorian has too many emotions about-- well, everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would have, and did

**Author's Note:**

> The surname I've used for Rilienus here is taken from Italian foundling naming customs
> 
> Hat-tip to neomeruru for title inspiration!

“I have a contact in Antiva City who might be able to help, actually.” Josephine says, over tea. “He deals in magical books and artefacts exported from the Imperium. In ways he claims are entirely legal and you'll never prove otherwise.”

Dorian laughs. “But of course, such men are all law abiding citizens. Well, you can tell your smuggler-- I'm sorry, _legitimate exporter_ \-- what I am looking for, although I don't know how much luck he'll have.”

“Rilienus has a very good reputation for sourcing the impossible.” Josephine says, smiling over her tea, and widening her eyes when Dorian chokes on his. “Goodness! Are you alright?”

“Fine, fine.” Dorian says, waving her off. “Just-- sorry, what is the name of this contact? The _full_ name?”

“Rilienus Proietta.” Josephine says, and pours him some more tea. “Oh, do you know him?”

The shock settles back into his skin. No, of course not. Of course it's not him. That would be ridiculous. “No, just making sure it wasn't anyone from a family my father is currently feuding with.” With a name like that, he's probably someone's bastard, settled in business somewhere that's conveniently not in Tevinter.

The details hardly matter. He's not _Rilienus_ , and Dorian is a fool.

* * *

He forgets about it for a while. He's occupied, after all; days spent trying to stop the end of the world, nights more often than not in the company of a Qunari while he tells himself it doesn't mean anything.

Because it doesn't mean anything.

Something lands on the table in front of him, on top of a rather awful Orlesian treatise on the nature of the veil. Mirim's _Principalia Necromantia_. The unexpurgated edition. The hand that rests on top of it is the warm colour of good whisky, and half-hidden underneath some elaborate rings, still bears that tell-tale scar, reddened like the memory of fire.

“The Orlesians' say it's a small world.” Rilienus says, smiling. “I'd say that I should have known that of all the things in the world that would bring us back together, it was going to be your love of fucking _Mirim_ and his frankly creepy opinions on necromancy.”

Dorian stares.

“Yes, I am quite well.” Rilienus continues. “And you?”

“You _arse_.” Dorian manages, eventually, and then, after another moment. “Proietta?”

“Well, can't really use my original name. It's part of the whole being technically disowned thing.” Rilienus says, waving his hand vaguely. “Oh, don't look like that. It all worked out.”

He swallows past the guilt in his throat. “You being disowned and exiled _worked out_.”

“Do I look unhappy, Dorian?” Rilienus says, and he pauses to actually _look_.  
His outfit is _dreadfully_ Antivan in style, form-fitting leathers, _very_ form-fitting, and the years have filled Rilienus out rather nicely. He wears his hair loose, even longer than when he was young, and his eyes are dramatically lined; the dark line of a tattoo peeks from beneath the collar of his shirt.

He smiles, wide and easy, and looks _nothing_ like the boy Dorian got caught up in a scandal with, all those years ago. That's probably the point. Dorian bites back the memory of him, eyes reddened, fists clenched, hair wet with rain. “No.” he admits, finally. “You look-- good.”

“This feels like a conversation we should probably be having over drinks.” Rilienus says, in return, and Dorian has never agreed with him more about anything in the world. Well, nearly never.

* * *

Years ago, they duck through the door a hairsbreadth before getting taught by a teacher, hands full of illicit spoils, and Rilienus tugs at his collar for attention with the hand not carrying the half-empty bottle of brandy and smiles, with the bright confidence of the young and drunk.

“You should kiss me.” he announces, suddenly, and then freezes, a look of panic creeping over his face.

Luckily for Rilienus, Dorian can only agree.

* * *

Now, as they amble towards the tavern, Rilienus hooks an arm through his and leans in, in a way that could be taken as merely friendly but which then again could be something else entirely, and Dorian is the one to freeze.

“Sorry.” Rilienus says, pulling away again. “Antiva taught me to be cautious about who I let know I'm a mage, and fearless about everything else. It was not my intent to impose.”

He looks a little concerned, and _understanding_ , and it's terribly infuriating. Dorian reels him back in, and tells himself he doesn't care who's watching. “You're not imposing.”

Rilienus smiles again, bright and blinding. “Very well, then. Tell me if I am. Or if you'd like me to.”

Dorian resolves not to tell him either of these things.

* * *

They talk, which is nice. Rilienus skips lightly over matters surrounding his exile and tells tall tales of his adventures in Antiva and elsewhere, and argues with him quite a lot about wine and matters of culture-- which is to say, his long sojourn in Antiva appears to have given him the mistaken beliefs that Antivan wine is enjoyable and Antivan culture exists.

He mentions past lovers, laughing, in the same breath as he discusses his business dealings, or some little restaurant down by the waterfront he thinks Dorian would enjoy, despite the 'preponderance of assassins among the patrons', seguing naturally into a story about this one particular encounter with an Antivan Crow. This one particular _naked_ encounter with an Antivan Crow.

Dorian does not think he is doing it on purpose, but he does feel a pang of jealousy. Not of the possessive sort; the time for that is many years past. But here is Rilienus, having shaken Tevinter from his heels like so much mud, and here is Dorian, who has let at least three perfect opportunities to mention Bull pass without comment.

“I should mention,” Rilienus says, sliding fingers across Dorian's palm, “that I do have a lover back in Antiva, should it make a difference to you.”

“Should it make a difference to _me_?” Dorian asks, and this one is shocking, he can't deny it.

“Oh,” Rilienus says, smiling again, like he's laughing at Dorian. “He doesn't mind. Quite the opposite, actually. If I return home and tell him I've been faithful he'll be ever so disappointed.”

He could say, now, as the shock recedes, _Actually, I have--_

He could, if he knew what title should end the sentence. It is not something they have spoken of, and as much as Bull loves to get him talking about everything else-- _watchwords_ and _boundaries_ and all that-- he has never brought up the matter of names for their-- well, whatever it is.

 _Sex_ his brain fills in neatly. _You have sex. Nothing more, nothing less._

Nothing, certainly, to stop him from taking up the offer that Rilienus has been making fairly clear is on the table for most of the conversation. Bull probably wouldn't mind-- not that there's anything giving him the right to have an opinion, either way.

“Remember when we thought we were in love?” Rilienus says, suddenly. Perhaps not suddenly. Perhaps Dorian's inner turmoil over terminology made him miss part of the conversation.

The phrasing is odd, but certainly talking of what they were is better than thinking on what he _is_ to anybody in particular. “We weren't in love?” From what Dorian remembers, it had certainly felt like it.

“I desperately wanted us to be.” Rilienus says, pouring himself a refill of the ghastly vintage which is the only semi-drinkable wine the tavern has to offer. He doesn't seem to mind it. “You were the one who made me think it might be possible, something _more_. Of course I wanted to be in love with you. But if we'd had the freedom to love as we chose, back then-- we'd never have chosen each other. We were better friends than anything else. Kin in disaster, nothing more.”

“I was nearly thinking you were making sense before you started quoting Salvetti.” Dorian replies, wine bitter on his tongue. Rilienus' logic does make a certain amount of sense, but it's all very well for him to think of it that way, Rilienus with his naked assassins and his strangely unjealous Antivan lover.

If that hadn't been love, back then, has Dorian ever been in love?

He hears it before the door opens-- the boisterous medley that is the Chargers, done with the day's work and ready for the night's drinking. One part of him regrets not finding an excuse to retire with Rilienus and a bottle of something before they got here; another part curses at the first for the unnecessary shame.

Rilienus isn't ashamed to be seen with Dorian, after all. Rilienus is, actually, leaning in, eyes fixed on the door. “My, that _is_ a Qunari and a half.”

Something in the way he says it makes the hairs on the back of Dorian's neck stand up unpleasantly. “Surely you've seen Qunari in Antiva.”

“Of course.” Rilienus says. “Sailors, mostly. They tend to be more _compact_. You wouldn't happen to know if everything is in proportion, would you?”

Bull looks over at them-- more of a scan of the room, really-- and does nothing, following the Chargers over to their usual corner. The mild anxiety of what Bull might think to see him with Rilienus making a best effort at draping himself all over Dorian is drowning beneath this other, thicker distaste at the shameless way Rilienus eyes Bull, the one that yells _you don't know a thing about him_.

What he says is “It is.”

Rilienus splits a delighted grin, turning on him. “You've been holding out on me! Here I worried you might be down here by yourself with nobody to warm your bed. I think introductions are in order.”

“They most certainly are _not_.” Dorian replies, without thinking about it, and perhaps with a little more venom than is really required in the situation.

Rilienus sits back for a moment, frowning. “Oh. Is it an exclusive sort of thing? You might have said.”

“It's not even a _thing_.” Dorian says, swiftly, before Rilienus can get the wrong idea. “An occasional dalliance, nothing more.” Rilienus looks at him, silently, for a moment, leans back in, looks to Bull and back to Dorian again. It is a little unnerving, to be honest. “ _What?_.”

Rilienus sits back and nods, as if answering some question. “Yes, definitely in order.” he says, and focuses back on the Chargers' corner of the tavern until Bull meets his eyes, then beckons him over with the sort of gesture that makes it quite obvious what the nature of his interest is.

Someone from amongst the group, possibly Stitches, whistles low and somebody else laughs; he can guess the joke. Chief's going to land himself a couple of 'vints tonight. He wonders if Rilienus would still be so damn cocky when he's faced with how _proportional_ Bull actually is, and _oh_ , that's something of an image. “Don't you dare tell any embarrassing stories.” he says, as Bull picks his way through the room.

“I'll stick to the titillating ones about youthful sexual experimentation.” Rilienus says, which does not really rule out _embarrassment_ , to be honest.

Dorian doesn't have a chance to argue it, though, because Bull's already making room for himself at their table. Two anticipatory grins aimed his way, and he feels this is either going to be a fantastic idea, or a disaster. “Bull, this is an old friend of mine, Rilienus.” Easiest to avoid the issue of his family name entirely. “Rilienus, this is The Iron Bull.”

“A _pleasure_.” Rilienus purrs, and Bull laughs.

“Subtle one, this friend of yours.” he says.

“Whereas you are the _pinnacle_ of subtlety.” Dorian points out, because while Bull is not wrong, he's also not exactly in any place to criticise Rilienus there. Clearly as the only one with any class at the table, he's going to have his work cut out keeping the other two in line.

“If I was being unsubtle,” Rilienus says, grinning like it's all only encouragement, “I'd tell you how Dorian and I used to hide away together and read dirty literature. Much of it about burly Qunari pirates.”

Oh, _balls_. It's not untrue, that a lot of their shared illicit reading material had involved-- certain themes. The dirtiest, naughtiest thing they could think of, after all. And the pirate novel had been, frankly, a work of _art_. But he doesn't want Bull to think that that's-- _why_ , like it's some kind of _fetish_. “What is _wrong_ with you.” he snaps.

“Not a damned thing” Rilienus responds, immediately. “And I resent Tevinter for every single _day_ I spent thinking otherwise.” There's something cold and brittle about his expression for a moment. Then it smooths away again, and he's back to shameless and cheeky. “Now, are we going to keep talking, or are we all going to retire to a room with a bed and indulge in the sort of sex we barely _dreamed_ of as teenagers?”

Bull looks between the two of them, just observing again. Calm, and patient, like whichever way it goes is fine with him. And Dorian just knows what he's going to say, and it's infuriating. “Works for me, if that's what Dorian wants.”

Oh, sure. Put it all on _him_ to decide. You should _care_ , he wants to say to Bull. You should have an opinion other than 'fine, if you want'. But he can't press, not now. He knows Bull has been struggling, to some extent, with being Tal-Vashoth. How much, he's not sure, because Bull doesn't talk much about it. Either way, it's hardly the time to dump Dorian's vague and conflicted emotions over their-- dalliance, not a _thing_ \-- on him.

There's only one answer, really, because he's not going to back down. It's a matter of pride, and besides, there's not a single logical reason why he'd say no. “Your bed is larger. And sturdier.”

* * *

There are only a couple of comments aimed their way, mostly good-natured. Dorian filters them out, concentrating on how gleeful Rilienus looks-- always in a good mood when he feels he's getting his own way, _that_ hasn't changed-- and on the anticipatory glint in Bull's eye.

Such minor distractions disappear entirely once they're in Bull's room, especially when Bull kisses him, bruising-hard, until Dorian feels his anxiety fall away. Even Rilienus' low, appreciative whistle is merely background noise. “Watchword? Limits?”

“I don't have a word I'm particularly attached to.” Rilienus says, sitting on the edge of the bed to strip off his boots, “If the two of you have a word you use, I will follow suit.”

“ _Katoh_ , then.” Bull says, and waits for Rilienus to repeat it back. “Dorian, any changes to your limits? Things you don't want to do with Rilienus here, or things you don't want me to do with him.”

Why would Dorian have limits on what Bull and Rilienus do together? He's not even sure where to begin answering the question. “I'm more interested in the things he _does_ want me to do with you.” Rilienus chirps, into the awkward pause.

“Nothing comes to mind.” Dorian says, eventually, making a rude gesture at Rilienus who laughs. He's already got himself stripped to the waist, which Dorian supposes only does basically get him on a level playing field with Bull. The tattoo he spied earlier is a sort of curving, abstract thing, that follows the lines of an unfamiliar scar. Dorian wonders when, within the long silence of their time apart, Rilienus acquired it.

Bull has positioned himself behind Dorian, who is still standing, not sure of what the best excuse would be for joining Rilienus on the bed. Bull's hand strokes along his shoulder, across to start flicking open buckles with dexterity-- Dorian finally gave in and taught him how they work, lest any more of his clothing gets ruined. “We'll play it by ear, then. General rules-- no magic, no insults. Anything else you want-- ask nicely.”

 _No magic_ isn't a rule he's ever used with Dorian, but he supposes Bull doesn't know Rilienus at all. _Dorian_ doesn't really know Rilienus, not any more. Not with these new scars and that new smile and his new, brazen outlook on life.

“Agreed.” Rilienus says. “As to my limits-- no implements or restraints, I don't mind being pinned but if my mouth is occupied I'm going to need my hands free. Marks you can leave with your hands or your teeth are _more_ than welcome, but no breaking the skin. Anything else-- well, just don't surprise me.”

“You mean, ask nicely?” Bull says, after Rilienus rattles his list off.

“Didn't say a thing about _nicely_.” Rilienus replies, without missing a beat.

Bull snorts, in the way that means he's amused by Rilienus' posturing. “I get the feeling you've done this before.”

“I'm an exhibitionist in a happy relationship with a voyeur who has a cuckolding fetish.” Rilienus says, and grins. “Yes, I've done this before.” Then he turns his attention back to Dorian. “One last rule-- no apologising for things that are past. _Let us fuck away our regrets._.”

The last he sings, off-tune but recognisable, and Dorian has to laugh. “That is _not_ how that hymn goes.”

“Why yes, Dorian, my ideas are the best, thank you for noticing.” Rilienus leans forward a little, rests a hand on his hip, nearly a caress. “Also, I've been thinking about sucking your cock for _hours_ , do indulge an old friend, won't you?”

For a moment he freezes, unsure if he really wants this, if he's allowed to-- old desires and new, all clashing together-- and then Bull's soft words call him back to the present moment. “Mmm, that'd be pretty to watch.”

“I'm always pretty to watch.” he responds, the give and take of it comfortable and easy by now. “And I suppose Rilienus didn't grow up half-bad.”

Rilienus responds to that by shedding the last of his clothes. “Going to make me earn my compliments, Dorian? Sounds like fun.”

He does the same, hardly taking much time when Bull's already got him half out of his robes, shifting up to sit by the headboard. Plenty of room for Rilienus, and for Bull, if or when he decides to join in.

For now, Bull seems perfectly content just to watch. Rilienus bestows on Dorian a greeting-kiss, soft, nearly chaste, as if they were young again, and then puts the lie to that by settling down between Dorian's parted legs, looking supremely at ease.

In a slightly more innocent time, Rilienus would have laid his head in Dorian's lap to have his hair played with, Dorian's mind half-occupied being thrilled with this new-found power, Rilienus pressing against him, needy for even these small touches, and half still counting down the moments until somebody came looking for them.

Now, he slides a hand into Rilienus' hair, carefully, not tugging, and Rilienus groans in approval. “I'll tap out if I need to,” he says, two fingers illustratively doing so against Dorian's hip. “So take this as permission to put all of your hands in my hair, please and thank you.”

So at least one thing hasn't changed, then, and there's something steadying about knowing that. It is just that rather than getting flustered when Dorian tangles his fingers in Rilienus' hair and tugs, just lightly, just so, Rilienus pins his hips down and demonstrates a few of the tricks he's learnt over the past decade or so.

It's good-- although it takes him a moment to understand the difference. Bull would have him incoherent, by now, but Bull knows him too damn well, and Rilienus is still re-learning him.

He makes the mistake of looking up, and sees Bull has gotten rid of his trousers, and is standing at the foot of the bed, appreciating the view rather blatantly. Slowly, deliberately, he shifts onto the bed, his weight dipping the mattress. A moment's pause, and he palms Rilienus' ass with one hand. “Hey Dorian. Fingers or tongue?”

“What?” Not precisely a shining moment of rhetorical brilliance, but Rilienus' tongue is _wicked_ , which puts him at something of a disadvantage.

“Your pretty friend keeps wriggling his pretty ass at me. How should I open him up, fingers or tongue?”

Judging by the way Rilienus' eyelids go half-shuttered and his reluctance to move from his current position, Dorian presumes that Rilienus is not opposed to this turn of events. Still. “Why am I picking?”

“He said he was interested in what you wanted me to do to him.” Bull says, with a grin that sends shivers down Dorian's spine. “And I don't see him tapping out.”

Rilienus pulls off Dorian's cock only long enough to say “Maker's sake, Dorian, just tell the nice man how you'd like him to ruin me already, I'm busy here.”

Dorian hesitates. A strange thought: somehow Bull rimming Rilienus would be a step too far, crossing some line he didn't know existed before. Of all the things to be worried about when Rilienus has Dorian's cock in his mouth. “Your fingers.” he says, finding it easier to make it a suggestion than a refusal of the other.

He knows when Bull really gets started, because Rilienus pulls away again. “Need a moment.” he says.

“Yes,” he says, smiling at the expression on Rilienus' face. “That is a finger. _Proportional_ , remember?”

“You are a lucky, lucky man.” Rilienus says with a sigh, nuzzling at Dorian's thigh lazily.

If anything, the break helps him feel more in control. Rilienus always did like to be petted-- and now he luxuriates, feline, in Bull's touch and in Dorian's hand in his hair. _Shameless_ , Dorian thinks, although he doesn't say it for fear it will come out wrong, and then _I'm so glad_.

Whether it was love or not, Rilienus has always been a dear friend. To see him like this, so familiar and yet so new-- new in the utter lack of fear or concern, that their activities might become tavern gossip or, depending how creative the Chargers are feeling, a new verse in one of their songs-- it's good.

Whether it was love or not, he looks now and thinks, _you are dear to me, old friend, and I am glad_. And he knows, when Rilienus returns, that it will not hurt. Whether it was love or not, it isn't any more. “Bull,” he says, “Would you do me a favour and fuck Rilienus utterly senseless?”

Bull grins, broad and happy, even as Rilienus mutters something along the lines of _best friend with best ideas ever_ against Dorian's thigh. “You want to watch?”

“I don't normally get the chance to appreciate your efforts from this particular angle.” Dorian demurs. “Besides, you take up so much space, I could hardly avoid it.” Not entirely untrue; The Iron Bull has a certain... presence. It is an aid on the field of battle and a nuisance otherwise, when Dorian finds his distracted gaze drawn across the tavern or out a window, seeking that now-familiar form.

“In other words, you want to watch.” Bull says, his free hand curling around Rilienus hip with a forceful squeeze . “Sounds like we need to put on a show.”

Rilienus pushes himself up onto his elbows, pressing back against Bull. His hair spills over his shoulders and his cock-- in case Dorian was in any doubt about Rilienus' enjoyment of the situation-- is desperately hard. “ _You_ need to put on a show. Dorian wants to watch. I want Dorian to put his hands back in my hair and his cock back in my mouth. Luckily none of these desires are incompatible, so can we get on with it already? You two can flirt at each other at a later date.”

They are not _flirting_. Just for that, Dorian grabs a fistful of Rilienus' hair and tugs him forward, although judging by the noise Rilienus makes when he does it, this isn't exactly the sort of punishment that will act as a deterrent. “You'll tap out if you need to?” he says, just to check, and out of the corner of his eye sees Bull nod in approval.

“ _Yes_ ,” Rilienus says, with exasperation that makes Dorian just a little bit sympathetic, after all the times Bull has done something similar to him. “Now would you two gentlemen kindly fuck me with wild abandon? That _is_ what I came here for, after all.”

They do, and don't. Bull doesn't really do 'wild abandon', he does deliberate control, even when he's doing his best impression of wild abandon. And he starts slow; Dorian knows this game, it nearly aches just to watch, in sympathy or perhaps sense-memory, knowing how it feels, that slow, perfect slide, so overwhelmed the first time he forgot to breathe.

He doesn't know this: watching Bull do it to someone else while that someone clutches desperately at his thigh and mouths at his cock. Tearing his eyes away from Rilienus' lips only to be caught by Bull's even, knowing gaze. “Enjoying the view, Dorian?”  
He lets his eyes fall again, because he knows Rilienus will want him to be watching. “It's quite good, yes.”

“Reckon I've got the best seat in the house, myself.” Bull replies, and pauses. “Rilienus. Make you a deal. The louder you make him, the harder I fuck you.”

“Deal.” Rilienus gasps, and in the next moment wraps his wicked tongue back around Dorian's cock and then swallows him down to the root.

He _yells_. Bull grins. “Nice.” he says, and then makes good on his word.

It provides a strange rhythm, a sort of counterpoint; when Bull starts to move in earnest Rilienus _has_ to pull back from Dorian, and when that gives Dorian a moment to calm down, Bull slows as well and Rilienus redoubles his efforts.

All through it, Bull keeps his eye fixed on Dorian. They are not even touching, and yet Bull has managed to orchestrate it so that every move that Rilienus makes is intimately linked to the all-too-familiar rhythm of Bull's hips.

He comes first. Rilienus barely has time to swallow before Bull is manhandling him up so that he's sitting on Bull's lap, facing Dorian still. He's pliant in Bull's hands, and Bull meets Dorian's eyes again, watching him carefully as he murmurs something to Rilienus, to which Rilienus' response is a gasped _yes_ and his hand falling to his cock.

 _Making sure I have a good view_ , he thinks, and then _You idiot, that's going to be awful for your knees_.

He watches, of course. He wonders if that's what he looks like, in Rilienus' position-- undone, wanton, beyond any thought but pleasure. He wonders if Bull always looks at Dorian like this, in times when Dorian's too caught up in the moment to notice.

Bull, ever the gentleman in these matters, waits until after Rilienus' orgasm to come. He insists, when Dorian queries it, that it's a matter of discipline, mental control.

Someday, Dorian wants to see that control break. Today, as the two of them watch him, foolish grins on their faces, he looks away, reaches instead for the sheet, where it has fallen to the side of the bed, with the intention of cleaning himself off well enough for the trip back to his quarters and a proper civilised bath.

Normally, that's what he would do. He finds all sorts of excuses for it. Staying the night would imply-- well, he's not entirely sure what, and perhaps that's the problem. Rilienus, on the other hand, leans back forward to grasp at him, limbs flailing awkwardly, while still half entangled with Bull. “Dorian, switch places with me, I want to be the littlest spoon.”

“What?”

“You're not going to toss me out on my well-fucked ass, are you?” Rilienus pouts, exaggeratedly. “Inhospitable of you.”

“It's not actually _my_ bed.” Dorian points out.

“Anyone who wants to stay, can stay.” Bull says, because of course he does.

This is how Dorian ends up curled between Bull and Rilienus, warmed from either side. He's not sure of it, but there seems to be something a little smug in Rilienus' tone when he says “Goodnight, Dorian.”

* * *

When he wakes up, Rilienus is gone. Bull is still there, a solid wall of warmth. “Your friend said he had some early-morning errands to run.” Bull says.

He makes a mental note to track Rilienus down before he leaves Skyhold, in order to kill him. “Ah.”

“Should I expect any more friends of yours to be passing through?” Bull asks. “Because I'm okay with that.”

Of course he is. Bull is always _okay_ with things. “I have very few friends outside of Tevinter, and none like Rilienus.” he replies, and then thinks to clarify that. “None I'd trust the same way.”

“Fair enough.” Bull says, accepting, as always, and would it hurt him to at least ask _why_?

“He was disowned, and it was my fault.” he blurts out. “Rilienus was a younger son and his family couldn't afford to weather a scandal-- or my father's ire-- and so they made the problem _go away_. Even though we were equally to blame--”

“To blame.” Bull says, flatly.

“Fine, that's probably the wrong word, but the point is, I let the consequences fall on Rilienus, because I was afraid.” Terrified. Somehow, he'd imagined he'd just keep getting away with everything. Somehow, he'd never thought someone else might be the one to suffer for it.

Bull runs a hand gently down his back. “Didn't seem like he holds a grudge. Unless last night was the strangest revenge plot I've ever been a part of.”

“Well, he has been in Antiva for a good many years. They have strange ideas.” Dorian shakes his head. “It _is_ good to know that he's doing well.”

“If you're good, I'm good.” Bull says; it almost sounds like a mantra. “Hey, you never did get around last night to telling me about the pirate novel--”

* * *

A few hours later, he finds Rilienus in the guest quarters, carefully packing up his things and looking entirely put-together. “You weren't going to run off without saying goodbye, were you?”

“Once is enough for a lifetime, I think.” Rilienus answers. “Just thought you might enjoy a little time without the third wheel, so to speak.”

Dorian really doesn't know what Rilienus thinks he's playing at. “I don't know why you imagined that necessitated sneaking out before I even _woke up_.”

“Because _I_ got what I wanted. I knew what I wanted from you when I came here.” Rilienus says, gently. “One night to be together and not be afraid. One good memory to wash out the bad. But what is it you want?”

“I'm not about to start making demands on you, after all this time.”

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum_... not from _me_ , Dorian. What do you want from _him_. I think you should try to figure that out. Just a suggestion.”

He freezes. “And should I-- _theoretically_ , Rilienus, desire anything from The Iron Bull, what precisely would you suggest I do about it.”

Rilienus shrugs. “This time around, maybe don't wait so long to ask?”

“You're a bastard, and why am I the one who has to ask _him_ for anything, pray tell?”

“These days I have the name for it-- and because you're terrible at _answering_ a straight question and only a little less terrible at asking one.” Rilienus's lips still curl when he smiles. “And because Maker help me, Dorian, if you don't do _something_ about this thing of yours I will come back here and lock you in a cupboard with him until you do.”

“I-- it's not a _thing_.” Dorian says, but it sounds weak even to his own ears.

“I'll write.” Rilienus says, ignoring that entirely. “ _Carpe diem_ , Dorian. Granted, it's a particularly large day and you'll probably need both hands--”

Dorian flicks lightning at him, and Rilienus ducks, laughing.

* * *

When Rilienus arrives home, Samael is, as always, in his office. He's had his hair cut again in the time Rilienus was away, clipped short in that military style Rilienus rather appreciates on him. He also, as always, pretends he doesn't hear Rilienus sneaking up behind him to run his fingers over the nape of his neck. “Welcome back, love. A successful trip, I hope?”

“Personally and professionally,” Rilienus replies, because he had indeed done quite well out of the Inquisition's requirements for rare tomes and materials, but Samael will want the details of the professional part tomorrow, perhaps over breakfast. Not tonight. “I met with the friend I mentioned to you.”

Samael half-turns in his chair, although he doesn't stop writing. “The one you were in love with?”

That again. “The one I _thought_ I was in love with.” Rilienus corrects.

Samael just chuckles. “Thinking you are in love is a well known symptom of love, Rilienus. Do you not think you are in love with me?”

This impossible man. How easily the words spring to his lips. “I _am_ in love with you.”

“And the particular hair you're splitting this time is--?”

“I will still be in love with you in five, ten, a hundred years' time. Until the stars burn out and the sky falls in.” At least one of those seems closer than it once was, but a marvel, still; to think of these things in terms of years. Four of them past. A lifetime ahead of him. “And with any luck, the next time I see him, Dorian will still be in love with his Qunari gentleman, and still willing to _share_.”

The last does the trick. Samael is not one for dramatics, but Rilienus can read the way his fingers tighten around his quill as the sentence he's writing reaches an abrupt stop. “A Qunari?”

“An absolute giant, in all the places that count.” He picks his next words for maximum effect. “They _wrecked_ me, my love. I would have screamed myself hoarse if my mouth hadn't been already occupied.”

The quill goes down. “You're a menace.” Samael retorts. “And a liar-- you only get that loud when I'm there to watch.”

Because it's not untrue, Rilienus laughs. “I'm also going to run a bath. If you want to hear the details, maybe you should join me?”

He gets filthier before he gets clean. That sounds like a metaphor for something, but it's not, unless Samael fucking him up against the wall in the corridor outside the bathroom is metaphorical, and these lovely bruises certainly don't _feel_ metaphorical.

Maybe it's a metaphor, all the same.

He had a bright future ahead of him, once. His mother said as much, and because at that moment Rilienus had nothing left to him but bravado he'd retorted _that's what you say when someone dies_. Except, of course, to her, he--

No regrets. He'll take this humbler future, this warmer, softer light, where he mostly uses his magic to keep the tea warm and his stockrooms well protected (well, and to deal with the occasional assassin – it _is_ Antiva, after all).

He really must write to Dorian. He promised, and it wouldn't do to let such a gulf of years open up between them again.

 _Dear Dorian_ , he should write, _I know you still have grand plans to save Tevinter from herself, but also have you considered: letting her burn?_

 _Dear Dorian_ , perhaps, _Samael's sister hated me on sight, not because I am a man, but because she detests mages, and also thought I might be after his money. Now her daughter's manifested magic she's all terribly cordial, which might have something to do with her also having gotten a peek at my business accounts. I find her hypocrisy somehow endearing._

 _Dear Dorian_ , certainly, _There is nothing to forgive. I just wanted you to be well, and happy. Knowing you're probably getting well-ruined on the regular by your massive qunari lover seems to fulfil both criteria._

 _Dear Dorian_ , is how it ends up, _Samael says you are both more than welcome to visit--_

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to read a novel about burly Qunari pirates, please do [click here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5263679). It is, indeed, a work of art.
> 
> Also a work of art: [this actual work of art](http://0sometrashland0.tumblr.com/post/135309121378/for-would-have-and-did-i-ve-got-so-many-feels-so) I received for this fic from sometrashland who is an angel of pornography i love you


End file.
